By the Sea.

The shoreline of Cape Town’s False Bay is draped with a string of small towns. While each one has its own unique charms and attractions, Kalk Bay in particular is worth a visit.

Just on the other side of Table Mountain, sheltered between rocky crags and a skirt of sapphire water, lies one of my favourite places in the world: Kalk Bay. It’s only a thirty-minute trip from Cape Town city centre, yet it feels worlds away. For though its history and character are distinctly South African, this balmy settlement glimmers with enough resemblances to the Mediterranean or coastal California that a visit always makes me feel as if I were on holiday.

Kalk Bay is known for its fishermen, and you might spot the chefs of some of Cape Town’s best restaurants bargaining with them as they bring in their catch. The town is also something of an enclave for artists; within its short stretch of waterfront blocks you’ll find welcoming cafes, unusual galleries, and shops filled to the beams with antiques. Some of the most rewarding shops lie off of Main Road, hidden in discreet alleys. Weaving up and down these narrow streets, we browsed among the work of local throwers at the Potter’s Shop, and reminisced among vintage biscuit tins at the Cook’s Room.

I usually head straight for Olympia Café when I'm in Kalk Bay. Its interior is always suffused with an inviting golden light, thanks its face of high windows that look onto the sea, making it a warm and comfortable place to relax over a latte and an almond croissant. But I’d heard good things about Boulangerie, a tiny French bakery located up one of Kalk Bay’s steep side streets. We finally found it tucked among some bougainvillea behind the Artvark gallery (ok, the chalkboard at street level helped), and settled into a table on the patio. Their lunch menu features rustic sandwiches with fillings like bacon and brie, or oven roasted chicken, served in crunchy baguettes or between slices of wholesome farm breads. The meals are light and uncomplicated, perfect for the casual, breezy setting.

Boulangerie's desserts almost gave us reason to linger—the dark chocolate brownies with cherries were particularly convincing—but we’d already made up our minds to try out The Ice Cafe. I’d often seen queues in front of this ice cream parlour, and was curious to if it was deserving of the crowds. We squeezed in among the throngs, and placed our orders: we each got a single scoop of rum and raisin. It arrived in an unexpected shade of pink, a massive ball of rose coloured ice cream that made me feel just a little silly as I took it outside. Thankfully, the rich, slightly boozy flavour of the alcohol-soaked-raisins helped keep me from feeling too childish. Though if a trip half-an-hour out of town can evoke the feeling of a childhood holiday to the beach, it might not be worth fighting it.

La mer.

I've just finished reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's Tender is the Night, and despite some of the novel's more troubling themes, was rather put in the mood for a little holiday on the Riviera. Do you think a morning out on Cape Town's False Bay will be able to substitute? I'll be back next week to report on that.

Captain Nemo's garden.

While stopped below the dramatic seaside cliffs of Tsistsikama National Park, we discovered a treasury of small rocks and shells covered in bizarre aquatic growth. Some of the fronds resembled elaborate feathers, others looked like alien flowers, and they grew together in the strangest collections, like tiny gardens raised from the bottom of the sea.

Fish-head still life.

Though we visited the Hsinchu Harbor fish market on an ill-fated search for lunch, I couldn't help but pull out my camera for a few shots. What is it about fish markets that inspire in me a still-life? In part, it's undoubtedly the pure visual appeal of glittering scales and shining fins; but I think there's something more to it.

The still-life was perfected as a genre of painting during the height of the Dutch Republic, an era when the country was at the center of a grand and wealthy trading network. The still-life painting was meant to show off expensive imported foods, in the luscious oily gleam of a painted lobster or melon. But behind the veil of grandeur was a deeper message: that inside these delicacies were the seeds of rot, decay, of wealth's own undoing. Our current consumption of the ocean's riches is quickly leaving it depleted of life, meaning that in several decades Davy Jones' cupboards might be quite bare. Given that we might be one of the last generations to enjoy a decadent seafood meal, the still life really seems a fitting form for photographing a fish market.

On Holiday in Cat Ba Town.

Unfortunately, winter is not as kind to Catba Island as it is to Halong Bay. Where the latter is graced with a mist that creates mystery and allure, the former simply gathers damp.

Cat Ba is undoubtedly meant to be a holiday town- hotels are stacked up against the jungle-clad hills, and the oceanfront promenade is decorated in fairy-light sculptures and grandiose fountains. Yet what becomes of it when no one is on holiday? On an off season visit, with no throngs of beach goers and sun chasers, the town simply looks comical- hotel names like Holiday View and Cat Ba Princess become a little ironic in the mildewed haze of March. Yet, strangely, there was something appealing about the lack of appeal, a certain style to its lack of style. And despite the town's downtrodden mood, we had a great time walking the abandoned streets, among lonely pearl stands and quiet seafood joints.

Halong Winter.

The trip out of Hanoi was so spectacular as to seem cliche. Between towns of gaudy neoclassical tube-houses, we passed scenes of rural Vietnamese life so postcard-perfect they seemed as if they had been staged. Black and white ducks crowded in a bamboo cage, teetering off the edge of a motorcycle; women in conical hats working in flooded plains that glowed with electric-green rice buds; water-buffalo lazing in the shade, their fur caked with mud. But as attractive as these scenes were, they couldn't rival our destination: Halong Bay.

The guidebooks told us that March was the worst time to visit, but we discovered that Halong Bay in winter is chilly, foggy, and perfectly atmospheric. In the morning, veils of mist hung off the jagged-edges of karsts. In the afternoon, the sun drew the mist away, revealing bamboo groves clinging over shrines carved into the rock-face. As we kayaked among dragon-tooth peaks and squat wooden junks, we spied giant jellyfish floating in the teal waters below us, their pale pink tendrils trailing behind them.

Where tourists and visitors gathered, so too did floating market sampans. From boats of wooden and woven bamboo, women offered oranges, Ritz crackers, and boxes of cigarettes. Some had large plastic tubs; they offered crabs, cuttlefish, and fist-sized clams, their mother of pearl interiors gleaming.

Eating down to the fish's eye on Koh Si Chang.

With the monsoon season slow in leaving, the weather in Bangkok has been pretty gray lately. Thankfully Bordeaux has a friend visiting us this week, so we had the perfect excuse to slip down to one of the islands in the gulf of Thailand. After a bit of research, Bordeaux decided we should visit Koh Si Chang, a tiny nearby island with none of the beach culture of Pattaya or Ko Samet. We departed from Bangkok after stopping by work on Friday morning. We were running a bit late by the time we left our apartment, so we decided to take a taxi to the Ekkamai bus station. I haled the first cab I saw, an ancient hot-pink car. As we got in, Bordeaux remarked on how old the taxi was. Overhearing him, the taxi driver said, “What? Old taxi? Oh, sorry. Old driver, too.”
After a two-hour bus trip to Sri Racha, a short tuk-tuk ride to the pier, and a choppy 45-minute ferry into the gulf of Thailand, we arrived at Koh Si Chang. There had been such a small amount of information in the guidebook that I had been a little worried about the island: would it be just a drab port town, with an uninviting atmosphere? Or alternately, would it be another generic resort, overrun with tourists and devoid of character? Amazingly, Koh Si Chang was exactly what I had dreamed it would be. The main town had a friendly island atmosphere, with shops and fruit stands lined up on quiet streets that sloped down to the port. Between the pale blue and green houses were lush gardens, overgrown with orchids, frangipanis, and banana palms. And all of this was watched over by a towering gold Buddha seated on the hilltop.
After getting settled in to our bungalow at the Tiew Park Resort, we headed out to explore the island. At the far end of town are the remains of Rama V’s island palace, now a manicured public garden. We entered the park via a thin oceanfront promenade, set against a rocky beach where children were swimming and diving off of battered fishing boats. In the distance we could see the shore of Thailand, it’s green hilly peaks appearing through the haze like the spiny back of a submerged crocodile. Set below a jungled cliff, the gardens were a strange labyrinth with twisting paths curving around goldfish ponds, Buddhist shrines, and a giant clamshell fountain. After an hour of exploring, we returned to town, where we decided to have dinner at a restaurant called Pan and David’s. Though the menu offered a cosmopolitan mix of dishes made with imported ingredients, we were in the mood for Thai seafood. We ordered a spicy salad with fish and shrimp, an extremely fiery jungle curry, and squid stir-fried with garlic and pepper. It was a delicious dinner, perfect for our first night on the island.
We were planning on returning to Pan and David's for breakfast the next morning, but while walking around town we were tempted by a woman making fresh roti on a streetside wok. We each had a plate of banana mataba, a sort of folded-over roti. They were served sizzling hot, the roti crispy and golden, stuffed with sweet bananas, and covered in a drizzling of condensed milk.
It was bright and sunny out, surprisingly for the rainy season, so we chartered a tuk-tuk to Hat Tham Pang beach on the other side of the island. Hat Tham Pang is the only one real beach on Koh Si Chang, a thin slip of white sand on the edge of a clamshell shaped cove. The water was the color of an old fashioned lime soda, and just cool enough to offer an inviting refreshment from the sun.
After floating on the waves and burning in the sun, we settled into lounge chairs at one of the beachfront cafes for lunch. The cafes on the beach have erected a long canopy of sun-umbrellas along the sand, providing a cool stretch of shade under which to eat. We ordered, and after just a few minutes they brought out three huge plates, piled with food. It was unbelievably delicious. There was a plate of fat noodles, greasy with soy sauce, fried with mixed seafood; a spicy papaya salad made with fresh crab; and, my favorite dish, squid stir-fried with cashew nuts.
After another hour of swimming and sunning, we headed back into town. We stopped on the way for an afternoon treat at Pan and David’s. We each ordered a scoop of one of their flavors of homemade ice cream: chocolate and walnut, almond, and strawberry. They were all creamy and smooth, tasting even better as they began to melt in the afternoon heat. The strawberry was likely the best; the strawberries were so fresh that they still tasted a little tart.
We got back to our room just as an evening rainfall began. After napping through the rhythm of the monsoon, we headed out to find dinner. We chose an outdoor seafood restaurant that seemed to be popular with Thai diners. We ordered steamed fish with lime sauce, and prawns stir-fried with vegetables, which, due to an odd typo, was listed as ‘prawn stir fried with regretable.’ When the latter dish arrived, we all wondered if it really had meant regrettable. It was a plate-sized disc of fried batter, with no clear signs of vegetables. We eventually figured out that we had ordered incorrectly, and had been brought the prawn and pork omelet, which was the dish listed below what we had wanted. It was too late to correct our fish dish as well, and we were the brought crispy-fried sweet and sour fish. Thankfully, both dishes were very tasty, if not exactly what we had ordered. The fish was served whole, grimacing face on one end of the platter, crispy tail falling off the other end. To finish the meal, I took the fish head onto my plate; as an adventurous final note for the perfect island weekend, I ate all I could from it, down to the tiny, crunchy eye.